ed. "Away with you. I shall call you when I need you." And he
pointed to the door.

Garnache experienced some dismay, some fear even. He plied his wits,
and he determined that he had best seem to apprehend from his gestures
Marius's meaning; but apprehend it in part only, and go no further than
the other side of that door.

He bowed, therefore, for the third time, and with another of his foolish
grins he shuffled out of the chamber, pulling the door after him, so
that Marius should not see how near at hand he stayed.

Marius, without further heeding him, stepped to mademoiselle's door and
rapped on a panel with brisk knuckles.

"Who is there?" she inquired from within.

"It is I--Marius. Open, I have something I must say to you."

"Will it not keep till morning?"

"I shall be gone by then," he answered impatiently, "and much depends
upon my seeing you ere I go. So open. Come!"

There followed a pause, and Garnache in the outer room set his teeth and
prayed she might not anger Marius. He must be handled skillfully, lest
their flight should be frustrated at the last moment. He prayed, too,
that there might be no need for his intervention. That would indeed be
the end of all--a shipwreck within sight of harbour. He promised himself
that he would not lightly intervene. For the rest this news of Marius's
intended departure filled him with a desire to know something of the
journey on which he was bound:

Slowly mademoiselle's door opened. White and timid she appeared.

"What do you want, Marius?"

"Now and always and above all things the sight of you, Valerie," said
he, and the flushed cheek, the glittering eye, and wine-laden breath
were as plain to her as they had been to Garnache, and they filled her
with a deeper terror. Nevertheless she came forth at his bidding.

"I see that you were not yet abed," said he. "It is as well. We must
have a talk." He set a chair for her and begged her to be seated; then
he perched himself on the table, his hands gripping the edges of it on
either side of him, and he turned his eyes upon her.

"Valerie," he said slowly, "the Marquis de Condillac, my brother, is at
La Rochette."

"He is coming home!" she cried, clasping her hands and feigning surprise
in word and glance.

Marius shook his head and smiled grimly.

"No," said he. "He is not coming home. That is--not unless you wish it."

"Not unless I wish it? But naturally I wish it!"

"Then, Valerie, if you would have w